As he sat on one side of a table in a back bar - here the prices were less than half those in the front bars - Edward Anson ran his fingers through his tangle of tight, curly brown hair. ‘Yes, I saw Ramon this morning.’
Caroline studied his face. ‘Well - aren’t you going to tell me what it was all about? I’ve been so excited thinking about it.’
‘You could have saved yourself the trouble.’
‘Stop being so mournful. Really, Teddy, sometimes you try to paint everything so black. Where did you see him?’
‘In his office. Being Ramon, he produced a bottle of expensive brandy and poured out a drink big enough to float a yacht.’
‘But did he offer you any kind of a job? For heaven’s sake, that’s what I want to hear about. He’s such a nice man and I’ve been hoping and hoping on your behalf.’
‘He didn’t offer me a job. He offered me a partnership.’
She stared at him, utterly amazed. ‘A. . . a partnership?’ She shook her head. ‘But that’s much more than you ever dared hope for. Why, it’s even more than I ever dreamt about! How can you sit there with a face a mile long, looking as if you’d just heard bad news?’
He shrugged his shoulders. He had a broad, very strongly-featured face, with light blue eyes that could often express more of his emotions than he wanted, and his complexion was weathered. It was easy to imagine him at sea, challenging wind and wave. ‘It’s not as simple as it sounds. Ramon will take me on because he reckons I’m good at the job and I’m English and so can deal with all the English-speaking people who want work carried out. He says I’d get a work permit because he can truthfully say I’d be doing a job no Spaniard could do because I’ve English contacts.’
‘Then what isn’t simple about that? I can see the nameplate on the side of the boatshed. “Mena and Anson, yacht designers and builders.” You’ll build a whole lot of super yachts and win all the big races and every rich yachtsman in the world will be rushing to you to get you to build him one.’
‘Carrie, there’s just one small condition to me being a partner. Ramon wants a million and a half pesetas to pay for the partnership.’
‘Oh!’ She stared at him. ‘A million and a half. . . Is it worth that much?’
‘Every time. If he’d doubled it to three million I’d still say it would be worth it. That place is a potential goldmine and he’s a bloke who one can trust all the way . . . But a million and a half or three million, it doesn’t make any difference. I don’t know what that sort of money looks like.’
‘You’ve just got to find it.’
‘Under my pillow?’ His tone became bitter. ‘Carrie, I’d have to scratch around really hard to find ten thousand right now. A million and a half is like talking about me getting a degree in Greek.’
‘Stop being so defeatist. There’s always a way.’
‘Not always, not in real life.’
‘I just won’t listen to you being gloomy. When an offer you’ve dreamed and dreamed about like this turns up it’s because it’s meant to happen. Therefore, it’s going to happen.’
‘It’s a pity you don’t run the world for it would be a much happier place if you did.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t know about that - I think it would most likely blow up in total confusion . . . But one thing’s for sure. It’s all arranged that you should join Ramon as a partner.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe nothing.’ She reached across the table and put her hand on his. ‘Something will turn up, I can feel it in my bones. And they never, ever lie.’
CHAPTER III
At the time of their sudden deaths, Caroline’s parents had been married for twenty-four years and during the whole of that time they had found no cause to regret anything. She had never heard them have a row and even their arguments had always been reasonably light-hearted. For years, she had thought all marriages were more or less like theirs and she had been quite shocked to discover that most weren’t: shocked because she knew that happiness was more important than anything else in the world.
To be ready to, even to want to, believe the best of anyone and everyone was, in an age of growing cynicism, not only unusual but also not without possible dangerous consequences. But she was protected from such dangers by a keen sense of humour, a fund of common sense which allowed her to recognize rottenness when she met it, and an inner strength not immediately apparent. When the PC had called at the house to break the news that her parents had been killed in a very bad crash, she had naturally been totally shocked. But instead of giving way to her grief and demanding help, the kind of help which comes from accepting support from the strength of others, she had fought her own battles and, dry-eyed, had faced the world which had suddenly turned so black.
When it was all over, she’d decided to give herself a complete break by returning for the winter to where she and her parents had had the happiest of their many holidays. As any cynic would have told her, this must prove disastrous - the one unvarying rule of travel is, never return . . . And on top of that, there would be all the painful associations . . . She returned and found the peace and beauty she had remembered and when she thought about her parents it was not with a throat-tightening sorrow, but with a sense of thankfulness that they had been permitted to die together after having known so much love together.
She’d first met Mabel Cannon at a cocktail party given by an ex-property tycoon between wives. She’d noticed the lumpy, awkward, badly-dressed woman who sat in a cane chair at the far end of the immense sitting-room and typically she had immediately felt sorry for this person to whom nobody could be bothered to speak. She’d gone straight over and introduced herself. Initially, Mabel had been suspicious of Caroline’s motives, but her sincerity had been too obviously genuine to be misinterpreted, even by a very lonely woman who was always, in the company of the rich, the successful, the good-looking, and the well connected, all too painfully aware of her own very limited attractions.
Her suspicions allayed, Mabel had responded to the younger woman’s friendship with a gratitude that could have been embarrassing. Had it been directed towards anyone else, there would undoubtedly have been speculation whether there was a lesbian base to it, but not even the sharpest tongue in the area - and few came sharper – suggested such a thing. So great was Mabel’s gratitude that had Caroline gone to her and asked for a loan of one and a half million pesetas for herself, she would have given it without question. But, knowing this, Caroline felt in honour bound to explain precisely what she wanted the money for.
Mabel shifted in the armchair and crossed her legs, careless about the way in which the pleated skirt revealed her thick thighs. She riddled with the arm of the chair, where one of the cords of the material had frayed. She was no more concerned about the way in which the house was furnished than the way in which she dressed: most of the furniture had been bought in a second-hand shop or from people leaving the island and nothing matched, much was dingy. ‘Who told you about this partnership?’
‘Teddy did, of course. You can’t think what a wonderful chance it is for him, Mabel. All his life . . .’
‘Why should Mena offer him a partnership?’
‘He’s a first class worker and knows everything about boats.’
‘But does he ever work? Whenever I see him, he’s lounging around the place, doing nothing.’
‘Of course you haven’t seen him actually working as you’ve never been in the boatyard and hardly ever go along the harbour. When you see him in the Port, he’s taking a break.’
‘Seven hours’ break and one hour’s work a day.’ Caroline laughed. ‘You’re just prejudiced! I’m sure you don’t believe anyone works who isn’t in an office. Teddy’s not cut out for that sort of life. He’s always loved boats and his one burning ambition has always been to have his own business. Now Ramon’s offered him the chance and he’s over the moon with excitement.’
‘He’ll never be given a work permit.”Yes, he will. All Ramon has to
prove is that Teddy will be doing a job a Mallorquin can’t and since he’ll be dealing with the English-speaking foreigners that’s obvious. Another thing, the business employs several Mallorquins so it’ll be even easier . . . Look, why don’t you come along to the boatyard with me and see what he’s doing now. It’s fascinating to see the kind of work he does.’ ‘I don’t like boats. They make me seasick.’ Caroline laughed again. ‘The one he’s working on now would have a bit of a job! It’s in a cradle up on dry land. Come on, let’s go and see him when we’ve finished our drinks.’
‘Why are you going on and on about it?’ ‘Because I want you to realize he isn’t the layabout you seem to think he is.’
‘Jason told me he’s lazy and hopelessly incompetent.’ ‘You know that Jason doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t dress in silk shirts and manicure his nails twice a day. And I happen to know why Jason’s talking like that. He got Teddy to revarnish the deck of his yacht and now he won’t pay up, but keeps making excuses and inventing complaints. It’s terrible when you think that Jason’s as rich as Croesus and Teddy hasn’t a penny.’
‘If he hasn’t any money, he won’t be able to pay the million and a half, will he?’
‘No . . . Not unless he can borrow it.’
‘No bank’s going to be that stupid. Give him one and a half million and he’d be out of the country as fast as he could run.’
‘That’s being ridiculous.’
‘You haven’t learned what men are like.’
‘But Teddy could be trusted with a hundred million . . . Mabel, if you can, will you lend it to him? It could all be done legally and if you’re still so worried the money could be paid directly to Ramon. Teddy would give you full interest and so you’d be benefiting and you’d be giving him the chance of a lifetime.’
‘The chance to go on drifting.’
‘Don’t be so prejudiced . . .’
‘I’ve seen dozens like him. They come out here because the drink’s cheap and the women are even cheaper and they just drift around expecting to live on charity. There’s a very crude word for them - beach-bums.’
‘That’s not Teddy.’
‘No? Then why didn’t he have the courage to come and ask me for the money face to face instead of making you do it?’
‘He doesn’t even know I’ve asked. It was entirely my idea.’
‘Nonsense! He’s hiding behind your skirts, but you’re far too nice to realize it. You’re too kind-hearted. Someone’s only got to invent a new hard-luck story for you to get all worried and upset about him. You must stop believing everything you hear and learn to be suspicious. If you don’t, one of these days you’re going to find out the truth about men in the nastiest way.’ Her mouth twisted into bitter lines.
Caroline had always had tremendous sympathy for the underprivileged, but her sympathy was far from uncritical, as Mabel supposed. She had the intuitive ability to be able to sort out those whose misfortunes were due to circumstances beyond their control from those whose misfortunes were due to their own inadequacies, which could be overcome if only they fought. It was Edward Anson’s fighting spirit which had so appealed to her from the moment she had first met him.
The world had given him a tough ride. His parents had been poor and the marriage bitterly unhappy and he had become a shuttlecock of emotional contention between them long before he could really appreciate that fact. His memories of childhood – he seldom spoke about those times – were of rows and causeless blows. Just before his seventh birthday, his father had gone off with another woman to leave his wife penniless. She had moved to Hampshire where she had obtained a job as housekeeper in a house which bordered the River Test. There, Anson had found the world of boats.
He was not an articulate man, except where boats were concerned, and therefore could not readily explain the psychological meaning boats had come to have for him, but Caroline was certain that for him they were freedom from all the emotional unhappiness found ashore. A boat sailed one away from the land where a man would try to prove his manhood by subjugating a woman: at sea, only the wind and the waves were truly powerful and they were neutral.
When his mother had died, after a painful illness, he had had to leave the house by the river. He’d drifted, in the sense that he had moved from job to job and place to place, but his goal had always been crystal-clear to him. On a May day he had landed in Palma from the Barcelona ferry and three weeks after that he had wandered into Puerto Llueso. He had stood on the front and looked at the harbour and he had suddenly known that here was where his destination had lain from the beginning. He had gone to the two boatyards and the three boat-builders in the Port and had asked for a job and each one had refused him. The next week he’d visited them again and they’d refused again: and each week after that. He’d swallowed his pride - of which he had far too much - and he’d badgered English yacht-owners, whom he stupidly despised just because they were, by definition, wealthy, asking, pleading to be given some work. One man, attracted by the chance of having the work done cheaply, had offered him the job of rubbing down and varnishing the deck and superstructure of a thirty-foot cruiser. He’d worked on that boat with all the care of a restorer working on an old master, not only because he wanted to create an impression, but also because where boats were concerned he was a perfectionist. The owner had been duly impressed, by the standard of workmanship and by the reasonable size of the bill.
When the boatyards were busy, no one worried that a few odd jobs were carried out by a foreigner who had no work permit. But as the world went into economic recession, the number of yachts in the Port became fewer and owners of those which remained cut back on the work they had carried out on them. Then, the men who ran the boatyards began to concern themselves with the work they were not getting because a foreigner was undercutting their charges. This was how Ramon Mena had first met Anson.
Mena had intended to lay a denunciation, which would quickly have removed the nuisance. But he also had a passion for boats and when he saw the work Anson was doing he realized that here was someone after his own heart. He delayed the denunciation and spoke to Anson about many things, and the upshot was instead of having him removed from the island, he offered him a partnership. For Anson, it was a dream desperately trying to come true.
Caroline walked along the front, past the bars where a gin and tonic cost fifty to sixty pesetas, and then down one of the cross streets to a back bar where it cost twenty. Anson had not yet arrived, so she sat at one of the tables. The barman came out from behind the counter - normally he refused to serve the tables - and asked her how things were and how was she? She understood enough of what he said to reply that she was fine. She asked him if she could have a coffee.
She saw Anson cross the square and then wait in the shadow of a palm tree for a couple of cars to pass. He was strong, she thought, like an oak tree, but like an oak tree he had not learned to bend to the wind. He refused to practise discretion, to temper his instinctive and baseless dislike of wealth and heritage, to stop preparing to bite the hand which might feed him . . .
He opened the door, stepped into the cafe, came to the table, and sat. He ran a hand, stained with grease, through his mop of curls and then rubbed the tip of his nose on the back of his hand. His craggy face was browned by sun and wind so that there was the look of a gypsy about him.
‘I could murder a brandy. Have you ordered anything, Carrie?’
‘Pedro’s bringing me a coffee.’
He turned and called for a large brandy. ‘The wind’s a bit of a bite to it today. I’ve been reeving some new rigging and got bloody chilled.’
‘Why on earth haven’t you been wearing a sweater?’
‘Didn’t think I’d need one,’ he answered uninterestedly. He brought a pack of Ducados from his pocket and offered her a cigarette.
‘Teddy, I . . .’ She stopped. She was a little afraid how he would react to what she was going to say. She leaned forward to light her cigarette on the match he ha
d just struck.
‘Well?’
‘Please don’t look at me like that.’
‘I’m wondering just what in the hell you’ve been up to. When you’ve got that expression on your face, it’s got to be something dramatic’
‘It isn’t really. It’s just . . . Teddy, I’ve been having a word with Mabel.’
‘A word about what?’
‘Well, I . . . I tried to persuade her to lend you the money you so need.’
‘You did what?’ His voice thickened. ‘What d’you think you . . .’
‘I knew you’d never ask her yourself. And you said the banks won’t help. I just thought she might lend it to you . . . Teddy, it’s no good sitting back on your dignity and dislikes. You may never get a chance like this again and you’ve got to do everything you possibly can to try to grab it. If she’d lend the money to you . . .’
‘You should have saved your breath for cooling porridge: and kept your nose out of my affairs. I wouldn’t ask that old bitch for the time.’
‘She’s not that kind of person at all when you get to know her.’
‘Pass me by on that pleasure.’
‘You’re being very stupid.’
‘Now there’s one thing I’m really good at.’
‘You can say that again sometimes!’ She shook her head. ‘Look, all I was trying to do was help you, so don’t jump down my throat too hard.’
‘But can’t you see that she’s the last person to ask for anything?’
‘No, I can’t. Underneath, she’s really quite nice and kind.’
‘Carrie, you’re soft enough to see a Prince Charming inside every frog.’
‘Everything’s so much nicer like that. And quite often there really is one, you know.’
‘OK, Cinderella.’
She smiled.
The bartender brought the coffee and brandy. He asked Anson how he was and Anson answered in rough, but serviceable Spanish that things weren’t too bad.
Troubled Deaths Page 2
